Seasons of War

impossible beauty, and Otah suspected the world would never see another like it.
    He sat in the black chair his father had sat in, and his father before him, and on back through the generations to when the Empire had still stood, and the name Khai had meant honored servant. Before him, seated on soft red cushions and intricately woven rugs, were the heads of the highest families of the utkhaiem. Vaunani, Radaani, Kamau, Daikani, Dun, Isadan, and half a dozen others. For each of these, there were ten more families. Twenty more. But these were the highest, the richest, the most powerful men of Machi. And they were the ones who had just suffered the worst loss. Otah waited while his news sank in, watched the blood drain from their faces. Otah kept his visage stern and his posture formal and rigid. His robes were simple, pale, and severe. His first impulse - a ceremonial black shot with red and long, flexible bone sewn in to give it shape - had been too gaudy; he would have seemed to be taking refuge in the cloth. The important things now were that they know he was in control and that they put trust in him. It would be too easy for the city to fall into panic, and here, now, through the force of his own will, he could hold it back. If these men left the room unsure, it would be too late. He could hold a stone, but he couldn’t stop a rockslide.
    ‘C-Can we get it back?’ Wetai Dun asked, his voice shaking. ‘There are andat that poets have caught three, four times. Water-Moving-Down was . . .’
    Otah took a deep breath. ‘There is a chance,’ he said. ‘It has been done, but it will be harder than it was the first time. The poet who does will have to create a binding sufficiently different from the original. Or it could be that the Dai-kvo will be able to give us an andat that is different, but that still speeds the mining trades.’
    ‘How long will it take?’ Ashua Radaani asked. The Radaani were the richest family in the city, with more silver and gold in their coffers than even Otah himself could command.
    ‘We can’t know until we hear from the Dai-kvo,’ Otah said. ‘I’ve sent my best courier with enough gold in his sleeve to buy a fresh horse every time he needs one. We will hear back as soon as it is possible to know. Until that happens, we will work as we always have. Stone-Made-Soft made the mines here and in the North the most productive in the world, that’s true. But it didn’t run the forges. It didn’t smelt the ore. The stone potters will have to go back to working clay, that’s true, but—’
    ‘How did this happen?’ Caiin Dun cried. His voice was as anguished as if he’d lost a son. There was a stirring in the air. Fear. Without thinking, Otah rose, his hands flowing into a pose of censure.
    ‘Dun-cha,’ he said, his voice cold as stone and harder. ‘You are not here to shout me down. I have brought you here as a courtesy. Do you understand that?’
    The man took an apologetic pose, but Otah pressed.
    ‘I asked whether you understood, not whether you were regretful.’
    ‘I understand, Most High,’ the man muttered.
    ‘The potters will have to work clay until some other accommodation can be made,’ Otah said. ‘With proper control, this will be an inconvenience, not a catastrophe. The city is wounded, yes. We all know that, and I won’t have that made worse by panic. I expect each of you to stand with your Khai, and make your people know that there is nothing to fear. The contracts directly affected by this loss will be brought to me personally. I will see to it that any losses are recompensed so that no one family or house carries more of this burden than its share. And any contracts not directly affected by the andat’s absence are still in force. Do each of you understand that?’
    A low chorus of affirmation rose. They sounded as reluctant as boys before a tutor.
    ‘Also I have put armsmen on the bridge. Any house who chooses this time to relocate its wealth to some other city will forfeit their holdings here. Any silver over a hundred lengths that leaves Machi at one time must be allowed by me.’
    Ashua Radaani took a pose that begged permission to speak. It was proper etiquette, and Otah felt the tightness in his chest release by half a turn. At least they were now respecting forms.
    ‘Most High,’ Radaani said, ‘this may not be the best time to put restrictions on trade. Machi will need to keep its ties to the other cities strong if we’re to weather